Chapter 5 continued
1604 Words
Across the creek, life in Aiyetoro moved to an entirely different rhythm.
The village stood on weathered wooden stilts driven deep into the muddy floor of the lagoon. Narrow walkways connected homes that leaned against one another like tired old friends. Fishing nets hung from bamboo poles to dry beneath the relentless afternoon sun, while children chased each other barefoot along the planks, their laughter rising above the steady slap of water against canoe hulls.
To an outsider, it was an ordinary day.
To the elders, something felt wrong.
Pa Benjamin sat beneath the shade of a faded blue tarpaulin, patiently repairing a torn fishing net. His weathered fingers moved with the confidence of a man who had spent more than sixty years reading the moods of the lagoon. Beside him, three younger fishermen argued over fuel prices for their outboard engine, but Benjamin scarcely heard them.
His attention remained fixed on the water.
The tide was behaving strangely.
The current flowed faster than expected, carrying clusters of floating debris from the Olowo-Ina side toward the open lagoon.
Plastic bottles.
Pieces of broken wood.
A single red slipper.
Benjamin frowned.
"The water is restless today," he murmured.
One of the younger fishermen laughed.
"Papa, na ordinary tide."
Benjamin slowly shook his head.
"No."
"The lagoon speaks before people do."
"You only hear it when you stop talking."
The young men exchanged amused glances.
Old men were always saying mysterious things.
Yet none of them noticed Benjamin's eyes drifting repeatedly toward the distant shoreline of Olowo-Ina.
Smoke.
Very faint.
Barely visible against the glaring afternoon sky.
Not the thick smoke of burning houses.
The smaller columns produced by dozens of engines idling at once.
Too many engines.
Too many people gathering.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
...
Back in Olowo-Ina, the rumours had matured into certainty.
Nobody questioned them anymore.
"They have already crossed."
"I heard they killed two boys."
"They are bringing guns."
"They are coming before sunset."
Every retelling made the imaginary attack more terrifying.
A frightened crowd required no evidence.
Fear supplied everything facts could not.
Women hurriedly packed away merchandise.
Shop owners nailed wooden boards across fragile windows.
Motorcycle riders abandoned the market altogether.
Some fathers carried cutlasses openly for the first time in years.
Others armed themselves with iron rods, clubs, broken bottles, and sharpened farming tools.
Chief Alimi watched it all from the veranda.
Exactly as planned.
He turned toward Segun Danger.
"How many men?"
Segun grinned.
"Nearly sixty."
"And more still dey come."
"They say dem wan defend Olowo-Ina."
Alimi smiled.
"They won't be defending anything."
"They'll simply believe they are."
Mama G approached carrying a handwritten list.
"The traders donated money."
She handed it over.
"Almost four hundred thousand."
Alimi barely glanced at it.
"Good."
"Buy more petrol."
"And tyres."
Mama G hesitated.
"Tyres?"
"We may need roadblocks tonight."
Her expression hardened.
She nodded.
"I understand."
...
Amadi's pulse quickened as he watched young boys carrying yellow jerrycans filled with petrol toward Alimi's compound.
Another group rolled old vehicle tyres across the market road.
Nobody tried to stop them.
Nobody asked questions.
Every action was accepted as preparation for survival.
His stomach twisted.
This was no longer a rumour.
It was becoming an invasion.
He reached for his phone once more.
This time the signal stabilized.
Two bars.
Enough.
His thumb pressed Tunde's number.
Calling...
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
One ring.
Then another.
Suddenly—
Call Failed.
The signal disappeared again.
"No..."
He tried once more.
Nothing.
He slammed the phone onto the workbench in frustration.
Across the road, one of the guards noticed.
"You get problem?"
Amadi forced another weak smile.
"Customer dey disturb me."
The guard laughed.
"After today everybody go get bigger problem."
The words chilled him.
They already knew what was coming.
...
Meanwhile, Tunde sat inside a crowded commercial minibus heading toward Yaba.
His camera rested beside him.
He replayed every conversation from the morning.
Amadi's trembling hands.
Mama G's forced composure.
The freshly swept patch of earth.
The locked mechanic shop.
Pa Benjamin's strange warning.
None of it fit together.
His instincts screamed that a major story was unfolding.
But without proof...
He had nothing.
His phone vibrated.
Poor Network.
Then silence.
He frowned.
He tried calling Amadi.
No connection.
Again.
Nothing.
The minibus crawled through traffic.
Outside, Lagos roared as it always did.
Street hawkers dodged moving vehicles.
Conductors shouted destinations.
Life continued.
Unaware.
...
Back at the jetty, a lonely canoe drifted gently against its mooring rope.
No one noticed the faint scrape beneath the surface.
Then—
A single air bubble rose.
Pop.
Another followed.
Then another.
Deep below the muddy water, the current had begun pulling against the tightly bound body lodged between submerged mangrove roots.
The knots were holding.
For now.
But the tide was changing.
...
Clouds gathered over the lagoon.
Dark.
Heavy.
The first distant rumble of thunder rolled across the water.
People instinctively looked toward the sky.
"Rain," someone muttered.
"No."
Pa Benjamin stood slowly from his canoe.
His cloudy eyes remained fixed on Olowo-Ina.
"That is not rain."
The younger fishermen looked at him.
"What do you mean?"
Benjamin swallowed.
"The lagoon is warning us."
No one understood.
Not yet.
...
Inside Chief Alimi's compound, engines suddenly roared to life.
Motorcycles.
Pickup vans.
A battered lorry.
Men climbed aboard carrying machetes wrapped in sacks, clubs hidden beneath tarpaulins, and bottles stuffed with kerosene-soaked cloth.
Segun Danger climbed onto the back of the truck.
He raised his machete.
The crowd erupted.
Chief Alimi stepped forward one final time.
His voice carried absolute authority.
"Remember."
"We are not the attackers."
"We are defending our people."
Every man nodded.
It was the lie they needed.
The lie that transformed murder into duty.
The lie that allowed ordinary men to become monsters.
Alimi lifted one arm.
"Move!"
The gates swung open.
The convoy rolled into the dusty streets of Olowo-Ina.
People cheered.
Women clapped.
Children waved.
They believed heroes were marching out to defend them.
Only one man watched in horror.
Amadi.
He stood frozen inside his kiosk, unable to breathe as truck after truck rumbled toward the jetty.
He knew exactly where they were going.
Across the water.
Toward people who had no idea death was coming.
His fingers tightened around his phone until the plastic casing creaked.
Then—
The network signal returned.
One bar.
Without thinking, he dialed Tunde again.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—
"Tunde speaking."
Amadi's eyes widened.
He opened his mouth—
But before a single word escaped, a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.
He froze.
Slowly, he turned.
Segun Danger stood behind him, smiling.
"I thought we told you..."
His grip tightened.
"...to stay inside."
The phone slipped from Amadi's trembling hand.
It struck the concrete floor.
The call remained connected.
From the tiny speaker, Tunde's distant voice echoed desperately.
"Hello?... Amadi?... Can you hear me?"
Neither man noticed.
The line stayed open.
And somewhere inside the phone, every sound that followed began to record itself.
Segun Danger's eyes dropped to the phone lying on the concrete floor.
The faint voice crackling from its speaker froze everyone for a split second.
"Amadi?... Hello? Can you hear me?"
Segun bent slowly and picked it up. He glanced at the screen before pressing it against his ear.
The line had already gone dead.
His smile disappeared.
"You were calling somebody."
Amadi forced himself to swallow.
"It was... a customer."
Segun stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for the slightest crack.
"A customer?"
"Yes."
Segun looked at the call log. The name "Tunde" glowed at the top of the screen.
"So your customer now be journalist?"
Amadi's blood turned cold.
Without another word, Segun slipped the phone into his pocket.
"You no need this again."
He nodded toward the waiting convoy.
"Move."
Amadi obeyed.
He had no choice.
As he was pushed toward the jetty, the full scale of Chief Alimi's plan unfolded before his eyes.
Three long wooden boats floated side by side against the pier, their engines already rumbling impatiently. Young men climbed aboard carrying machetes wrapped in old sacks, bottles filled with petrol, clubs, axes, and bundles of rope.
Others covered the weapons with fishing nets to disguise the cargo from a distance.
To anyone watching from across the lagoon, they would appear to be ordinary fishermen returning home.
Chief Alimi stepped onto the front boat with the confidence of a man who believed history belonged to whoever controlled the first story.
He surveyed the gathering one final time.
"Remember," he called. "Nobody must know why this started."
The men answered with a roar of approval.
Engines growled to life.
One by one, the boats eased away from the jetty, their propellers churning the dark water into frothy white trails.
Across the lagoon, the roofs of Aiyetoro shimmered beneath the fading sunlight, peaceful and unsuspecting.
On the opposite bank, Pa Benjamin looked up from his fishing net.
His weathered face tightened.
He counted the approaching boats.
One.
Two.
Three.
Too many.
Far too many.
His instincts screamed what his eyes could hardly believe.
He dropped the torn net and reached for the brass hand bell hanging outside his hut.
The first sharp clang echoed across the water.
Then another.
And another.
Children stopped playing.
Women stepped onto their verandas.
Fishermen turned toward the sound.
The warning had begun.
Above them, thunder rolled across the Lagos sky, low and relentless, as the first cold wind swept over the lagoon.
The storm was no longer gathering.
It was coming.
- Writer
